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"I'm sure you are."

Tyler put his plate down and raised to his knees in front of Alec. He was wearing nothing but

boxers and his unbuttoned denim shirt, robust and sexy. Alec saw the beginnings of a fleshy tent-pole peaking from his fly. He scooted back into the couch, hands up for protection. "Whoa, whoa. Let's wait a minute. I need a breather."

"What's wrong, old man?"

"Nothing," said Alec. "Not a damn thing… and something tells me that you're the older of the two of us."

Tyler shrugged, collapsing back into the couch beside him. "What's age?" he asked.

"A state of mind," Alec answered.

"Exactly."

"I'm thirty-two."

"I'm thirty-seven."

"And sexy as hell, I'd like to add. You make me feel like I'm twenty."

"Ditto, kiddo."

"Can I ask you something?"

Tyler looked at Alec, curious. "Sure. Anything," he said.

"What's the deal with Misty?"

"What do you mean?"

"She kind of freaks me out."

"Join the club."

"She seems to know what I'm going through… what I'm working on."

"Yep."

"And she's very protective of you."

"Al and I go way back."

"She knows I'm shifting gears… with work… writing something else."

"Sounds like Misty."

"I'm just not used to that kind of—" He was looking for the right word. Clairvoyance? Second-sight? Gift? Everything sounded so hokey.

"Bluntness?" Tyler offered… and then added, "Honesty?"

"Yes. Assuming she's right."

"Oh, she is."

"How do you know?"

"She's been predicting the sex of my foals for quite some time."